


Prized Specimen

by Iciseria



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Anal Fingering, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Pseudoscience, Warning: Hojo (Compilation of FFVII)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iciseria/pseuds/Iciseria
Summary: In a fit of late teenage angst, Sephiroth stormed out of the labs and swore not to go back.  The problem is that he found out he can't run forever, and now, at 19, it's time to go back.  A particularly stubborn redhead has insisted on going with him so he doesn't have to go it alone, but do either of them really know what Hojo has in store?
Relationships: Genesis Rhapsodos/Sephiroth
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CateSith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CateSith/gifts).



> This is a gift for the wonderful CateSith. Thank you so much for sparking this, for the brainstorming sessions, for the edits, for the random messages about the mutual brain worms surrounding this piece. It has been a complete and utter delight writing this with you at my side.
> 
> TW: Dubious consent, medical procedures, enema administration (no description of expulsion), needles

The game was up, and somehow, for some reason, he’d _lost._ Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow, one he was entirely unaccustomed to, but especially unpleasant since he’d known the match to be a dangerous one to enter in the first place. Now he was left with no choice. He’d have to go back. Return to the place he’d been successfully avoiding for almost two years. That’s how he’d ended up on Angeal’s couch, unsure where else to turn, trying to convince anybody that he could hold off for just a bit longer while he tried to derive a way to avoid Shinra’s labs permanently.

“Sephiroth, I don’t see another way,” Angeal sighed, clapping a heavy hand to his shoulder. “You’re starting to withdraw, and Hojo made sure it’s impossible to get ahold of refined mako without reporting to the lab.”

Sephiroth nodded silently. He knew. He could feel it. The headaches were becoming more frequent, more crippling. He was losing his battle edge, his strength and speed diminishing until he and Genesis were nearly an equal match. For the last two years, Genesis had been pilfering refined mako from the lab, Angeal administering it to keep Sephiroth’s levels close to stable, by their best guesses at least. It was how he’d managed to skip his appointments for so long, a few adjustments to mission rosters giving him seemingly legitimate excuses for his absence. Until Hojo had caught on and put a halt to all of it.

“Seph, hey,” Angeal coaxed warmly. “Genesis will be here soon. He’ll go with you so you don’t have to be alone with the Professor, alright?”

Sephiroth hated the fact that he took comfort in knowing one of the two people he trusted would be with him the whole appointment. He reasoned that it was logical, there was safety in numbers. After all, two SOLDIERs could take out a larger threat than one acting alone. With a team of two, neither would be left with his back exposed to the enemy.

“Sephiroth, look at me.”

Green eyes, slit by cat-like pupils, rose from the floor to meet Angeal’s imploring gaze. Few would be able to look beneath their cold, alien appearance to see the haunted nature of their depths.

“Do… do you want a mild sedative? It’s an injection, but not nearly as bad as a mako treatment.”

Sephiroth found himself wary of the idea. Wary of anything or anybody that had come from the labs. The last time he’d been down in the foul-smelling hellhole, Hojo had wanted to fracture bones and carve lacerations to “assess his body’s healing properties.” Sephiroth had stormed out, throwing equipment and completely ignoring whatever threats echoed behind him. It was an action he feared he would now regret. “Does it work?”

“The effects aren’t overly profound on an enhanced individual. It’s designed to temper anxiety. You might notice less muscle tension. A decreased tendency toward hyperawareness. Everybody reacts a little differently. It’s completely up to you, Seph, but I’m happy to administer it if you decide you want it.”

Sephiroth hesitated. He depended on his awareness for survival, for success, so to interfere with it was concerning. Then again, going to see Hojo was concerning, and unfortunately, unavoidable. Being lightheaded was concerning as well, a consequence of injections, he’d discovered. Or infusions. Or lab draws. Sometimes it was accompanied by nausea or a brief episode of dimmed vision. The physiologic response seemed maladaptive, but he supposed it was standard to humans.

A knock sounded at the door, followed by the telltale buzz and click of the lock disengaging. A familiar ensemble of red and black crossed the threshold, pulling Sephiroth from his thoughts and plopping onto the empty space on the couch beside him.

“You ready, Seph?” Genesis asked.

“Actually, Gen,” Angeal interrupted. “We were just discussing whether or not Sephiroth wants to try a dose of the sedative you procured for us before he goes.”

“That’s a great idea,” Genesis agreed. He didn’t understand the details of Sephiroth’s aversion to the labs, though it wasn’t hard for any SOLDIER to imagine. He only knew that the man had sprinted out of the labs one day in his late teens, swearing he would never step foot in them again, and Genesis had teamed up with Angeal to do whatever they could to help him achieve that goal. “Seph, even if it makes this go the tiniest bit easier, it would be completely worth it. It won’t take long to wear off, and I’ll make sure to stick close until it does. Ang, go ahead and grab it.”

“Gen, he should make his own decision about this.”

“Ang, just do it!” Genesis hissed, a hint of desperation tinging his voice, and Angeal walked off to rummage through the stash of pilfered items hidden in his closet.

Finally, Sephiroth nodded his reluctant agreement. It wasn’t ideal, but none of this was. Maybe it would help. Maybe it wouldn’t. At least it was unlikely to be detrimental.

“Would you like to lay down, Sephiroth?” Angeal asked when he returned, a syringe and alcohol swab in hand. He’d been the one to give Sephiroth the stolen mako treatments and was familiar with the man’s reactions.

Genesis, however, had never been present and didn’t quite understand. His usually delicate facial features wound themselves together in confusion. “Why? Do you have a thing about needles?” It wasn’t meant to be an insult or a gibe, but the surprise in his voice came out far more clearly than he’d intended.

“No,” Sephiroth declared defensively. “I do not have a _thing_ about anything. The lightheadedness and nausea are simply disconcerting, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Genesis was _not_ , in fact, aware, but he caught the subtle nod Angeal had made at his question. It only made sense that he would develop a _thing_ about needles, or for all he knew, medical procedures of any kind. As Hojo’s prized specimen, he’d likely been poked more times than a patchwork quilt, and had probably been taught to associate it with far more pain than one would reasonably expect.

“If you’re sure,” Angeal said. “Just shrug your coat down so I can get to your arm then. It’ll start taking effect after about fifteen minutes.”

A full minute passed before Sephiroth complied. He didn’t like feeling lightheaded. It left him vulnerable, a moment when he was weak. His heart rate rose, reminding his body it needed to be ready to fight at all times. He flinched, startled by the arm that suddenly wrapped around him, but it was just Genesis, helping him to slide an arm free of the iconic black leather jacket he always wore.

The gesture was surprisingly warm and comfortable, even more so when the arm drew him in so firmly that his weight was forced to rest against his comrade’s torso. He turned his head into the inviting presence, not because he required comfort, of course, but because Angeal always told him he wouldn’t get as dizzy if he looked away.

He felt Angeal massaging his deltoid, coaxing out every minute knot until the muscle was completely relaxed. The nauseating smell of the alcohol hit him before the coolness wiped over his skin, and the arm around him tightened.

“Hey, Seph?” Gen said quietly, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Mmm?” Sephiroth asked, trying to concentrate on his breathing like Angeal had taught him to do.

“It’s going to be okay,” the auburn-haired SOLDIER assured. “You won’t be alone this time. I’ll be with you the whole time. Just like this if that’s what you need, all right?”

He didn’t _need_ it. In fact, he was loath to admit that he was so much as reassured by it. But it _did_ feel rather peaceful. Nothing more than a physiologic reaction to deep pressure sti…

“Done,” Angeal announced, giving a sly smile to Genesis. “Just relax for fifteen minutes or so, and then Genesis will walk you down.”

Sephiroth’s head whipped around, surprised at the complete lack of sensation involved with the administration. He was grateful, yet mystified. Angeal had a way of being extremely gentle, despite what his size would suggest, but Sephiroth had expected to feel _something_ \- a pinch, a burn, an unpleasant pressure deep within his muscle. Yet this time, he felt absolutely nothing. He pulled away from Genesis, who wore a smirk of satisfaction. A cat who had clearly gotten into the cream.

“Make things easier?” the redhead asked.

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes suspiciously, not entirely trusting of the whole situation. However, a glance at Angeal revealed an empty syringe and an open expression. “Yes,” he muttered softly, embarrassed but honest.

This was why Angeal and Genesis had decided that Genesis would be the one to accompany him. Moments like these saddened Angeal too deeply, leaving him unable to provide the necessary support. There were too many indicators that Sephiroth had been brought up without caring touch, without security, without tenderness. Even though Angeal looked at a young adult - the silver-haired SOLDIER had to be nineteen or so - he saw somebody much younger before him, alone in a world full of cold, Shinra staff. It made him hesitant to touch, afraid he’d be crossing invisible boundaries or shattering necessary defenses, even though he longed to do so.

Genesis, however, appeared not to struggle with this. Rather, he seemed completely at ease as he reached out and pulled Sephiroth back to his side. “Good, then it won’t kill you to stay like this until the medication kicks in,” he teased lightly, offering a smile to Angeal as he felt the younger man begin to settle against him.

Sephiroth thought to resist, at first, convinced that he was being poked fun at. Yet nobody was laughing, and Genesis’s hold only got stronger the more he resisted. Rather than waste his energy, he allowed himself to be held close, a highly unusual sensation. He found that despite being a little awkward, it was pleasant enough. A spicy smell coming off Genesis’s red leather coat was something he hadn’t noticed before. Eventually, the warmth from the body beside him seemed to wash over him. Or perhaps that was an effect of the medication. That made the most sense. Whatever the cause, it helped his heart to slow to a manageable rhythm, much more comfortable than the allegro cadence his body had insisted on prior to the injection.

“Sephiroth, how are you feeling?” Angeal asked after the alloted time had passed, smiling at the way Sephiroth, always glacially cold, had nuzzled into Genesis’s side. 

Sephiroth pulled himself upright and contemplated the question carefully. “A little spinny,” he declared with quiet confidence.

“Did he just say ‘a little spinny’?” Genesis asked, eyebrows quirked in amusement.

“I believe that he did,” Angeal chuckled and shook his head. “That’s only temporary, Sephiroth. It’ll pass in a short while.”

“Alright, Seph,” Genesis said warmly, nudging Sephiroth to his feet. “I think that means it’s time for us to go.”

Sephiroth rose slowly, testing his steadiness. As Angeal had promised, the medication left his body feeling somewhat relaxed. It wasn’t that he had poor balance or that he lacked control of his limbs, simply that he had to put more effort into making them respond to his will, though there was no easy way to test his strength at the moment. He noticed that Genesis was hovering closely, one arm held out ever so slightly, as though he were ready to provide guidance and strength if necessary.

Once he had adjusted to his body’s new heaviness, he started the trek to the labs with Genesis at his side. It wasn’t a particularly extensive journey, a few long hallways and a longer elevator ride, but he found while he was walking that the initial dizziness did indeed cease, though his mind still felt faintly fuzzy. He knew he was getting close to the medical corridor when he passed a sour-smelling spill of stomach contents on the way. The side effects of mako infusions were miserable, a fact that all SOLDIERs were familiar with, and the stench was a sad reminder.

Genesis tried to hold back a bark of laughter as they narrowly avoided a small pool of vomit that had barely missed its trash can target just outside the entrance to the medical wing. The mess itself wasn’t funny in the slightest. No, it was revolting, tinged with the harsh chemical smell of mako, likely the result of somebody receiving their first set of enhancements. What was amusing was Sephiroth, who usually appeared to be carved from marble, had wrinkled his nose in a look of blatant disgust. He hadn’t realized the muscles of the young man’s face even knew _how_ to create expressions.

It had been two years, but it was still far too soon as Sephiroth stepped into the familiar waiting area. A few other employees, some SOLDIERs, some not, were seated in the drab, identical chairs. They glanced in his direction, but quickly looked away as though frightened. It was a familiar reaction. He was intimidating, or so he’d been told. Ironic. If only they knew that he’d required moral support in the form of Genesis and a sedative to get here.

“He’s got an infusion appointment with Professor Hojo,” Genesis explained to the young woman behind the desk, who promptly opened a side door to allow them entrance. “Sephiroth, come on,” he coaxed quietly, noticing the way Sephiroth had halted a few steps away from the reception window.

Reluctantly, Sephiroth stepped into the hallway, head held high and shoulders back. He may be resigned to his fate, but he had appearances to maintain. Though it wasn’t lost on him that Genesis kept reaching out to gently touch his elbow or his arm as they were led through the maze to their destination by a nondescript man in scrubs, an assistant of some sort. They passed by a number of exam rooms, the ones closer to the entrance being for civilian employees, decorated with mundane art and warm lighting. The farther back they wound, the closer they got to the labs, and the less inviting the rooms looked. These were rooms for SOLDIERs, designed to handle men receiving mako treatments, which could be an unpleasant process depending on dosage and tolerance. He could feel his chest tightening as they were shown into a room as far back as the corridors ran.

“Commander Rhapsodos,” the assistant started, but was immediately silenced by the harsh look the auburn-haired man gave him.

“I’ll be staying for the duration. It’s non-negotiable, so you’re welcome to leave,” Genesis declared. It clearly wasn’t a suggestion, but an order.

The assistant made no protest, merely gestured to the gown on the exam table and closed the door behind him as he left.

Sephiroth took in his surroundings. He knew this place all too well. Nothing had changed. The smell was the same. Harsh chemical aromas of mako and antiseptic solution hung heavy in the air, tinged with the more muted scents of latex and nitrile. The sterile, white walls were bare, save a monitor and some equally white and sterile cabinets. It made him feel like they were closing in on him, making it harder to breathe. The harsh lights were cold, but bright, illuminating every corner of the room and reflecting off the stainless steel countertop and tray stand. A wide strip of crisp sanitary paper, white as everything else, covered the plasticky gray cushions of the exam table. It seemed the only splash of color in the room was the pale green gown folded on the end.

“Seph?” Genesis asked, breaking the silence. “Do you want me to step out so you can change?” 

Right. Changing. That wasn’t really something Sephiroth had considered when he’d agreed to Genesis’s company, though it all seemed so obvious now. Yes, he would have a comrade at his side while he was vulnerable with an enemy he most certainly didn’t trust. That was beneficial. However, these were the labs, and patients...no, not patients. _Specimens_ wore only flimsy gowns in the labs. While being in a state of undress wasn’t unusual for SOLDIERs, especially in the field or in the communal showers by the training areas, Sephiroth had begun placing a greater value upon modesty since his body had been… reacting… to the presence of certain individuals. One of whom happened to be waiting for an answer.

“It’s fine. You can stay,” he answered, convinced that to respond differently would be instantly damning. Wanting to avoid suspicion, he began shrugging out of his gear, hanging his pauldrons and custom leather jacket on a hook attached to the door. He then folded his stomach guardand chest harness and left them neatly on the countertop. 

The air against his newly bared skin registered as being cool, but Sephiroth found he felt oddly warm under Genesis’s lingering gaze. Merely a side effect of the medication, he reasoned, much the same as the heaviness in his limbs. Still, he thought it best to wrap the thin gown around himself prior to removing everything from his lower body on the off chance that the warmth was a precursor to a more obvious response.

Genesis leaned casually against the wall, trying to figure out what exactly his role would be in this whole situation. He’d insisted on being here to serve as a buffer between Hojo and Sephiroth in whatever way he could, but now that Sephiroth was undressing, he could sense a thread of awkward tension in the air he hadn’t quite anticipated. Hurriedly, he pulled his attention from idly appreciating the lithe and graceful form slipping into a gown to rummaging through the cabinets for any supplies he might find worthy of snagging. Despite being certain there was nothing of interest, he pretended to let the task require his attention until he heard the tell-tale crinkling of paper that indicated Sephiroth had settled onto the table.

When he turned, something inside Genesis’ chest twisted at the sight that met him. It looked so out of place, so _wrong_. Sephiroth usually appeared calm, even in battle. Alert, yes, but confident and comfortable. Now, he looked anything but. Tension was visible in his muscles, even with the sedative in effect. He sat with his spine ramrod straight, like he would sooner break than bend, his fingers curling around the edges of the table. A line of some uncharacteristic emotion had nestled between his eyebrows. Maybe not outright fear, but unease at the very least. Genesis silently wished they’d been able to give their friend something stronger, even though he probably wouldn’t have agreed to it. Genesis’s own encounters with Hojo had been bad enough; he couldn’t imagine being raised under the man’s sadistic eye.

There was no knock, only the sound of footsteps and the turning of a door handle to announce Hojo’s arrival. Sephiroth glared in the direction of the noise, his breathing coming just a little quicker. If it hadn’t been for the medication, maybe his heart would have raced. He didn’t trust the man that crossed the threshold. Neither the greasy black hair pulled into a low scraggly ponytail, the white lab coat that spoke to his facade of professionalism, nor certainly the twisted smile that held malice instead of joy did anything to instill trust.

“Sephiroth, so wonderful of you to finally grace us with your presence,” Hojo sneered, his nasally voice full of sarcasm and disdain. “And I see, now that you’ve reached adulthood, you’ve brought a babysitter to join you. How _regressive_.”

“Maybe if it weren’t for a certain hack scientist pretending to have a medical degree—” Genesis was silenced as Hojo held a hand up.

“You’ve done enough damage already,” Hojo retorted. “But I’ll tolerate your presence if you’ll keep yourself under control. As to you, Sephiroth, I must say I’m rather disappointed with your behavior. After all Shinra and I have given you, you repaid us with insubordination and childish antics befitting a bratty teenager from under the plate.”

Sephiroth dropped his eyes to the floor. He wanted the words to glance off of him and leave him untouched, but they cut and stung instead. It was worse to have Genesis hear them, to have his friend and comrade know that he was a disappointment. He wouldn’t apologize because he wasn’t sorry, but he would accept the berating comments as he’d been trained to do. After all, blatant insolence would get him nowhere. His reluctant presence in the labs today was proof of that.

“Since you have nothing to say for yourself, let’s get to the subject at hand. Step onto the scale,” the professor instructed, gesturing to the scale tucked into a corner of the room.

Sephiroth complied without comment, staring at the wall while Hojo measured his height and weight and scribbled notes into a chart. This was how it always started, the simple distillation of a person down to nothing more than measurements, numbers, and results.

“You’re not eating enough for your metabolism,” Hojo critiqued. “I’ll ensure Dietary delivers high protein supplements to your apartment and your office for between meals.”

Genesis silently seethed, arms crossed over his chest, while he watched the exchanges play out. It infuriated him to see Sephiroth, who led _entire armies_ , be so easily cowed by the deranged scientist. Only a long-standing history of manipulation extending well into childhood could be so effective. It was no wonder he and Angeal had needed to work so hard to draw Sephiroth out of his shell over the years. He saw the way Sephiroth’s shoulders curled forward when he returned to the table, but he couldn’t tell whether they were slumping from defeat or the relaxing effect of the drug.

Sephiroth repressed the urge to flinch away from Hojo’s touch as the professor wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and clipped a pulse oximeter to his finger. It was all routine, the tight squeezing of his bicep, the slow, steady beeping of his heart rate on the monitor, the thermometer shoved under his tongue. It was much less routine to know somebody else was watching and could see the measurements displaying on the screen. It felt oddly personal, but he supposed that was because he had so little personal information aside from these numbers to call his own.

He wasn’t sure what possessed Hojo to leave the finger probe on after the other monitors had been removed, but he knew better than to question the scientist’s methods. Unfortunately, that meant he could hear, in addition to feel, his heart rate speed up as Hojo pulled the tray table over and directed Sephiroth to lay his arm upon it. The stainless steel was cold against his skin, and he felt gooseflesh break out over his body. He turned his face away and closed his eyes while Hojo added supplies to the tray, including a veritable cornucopia of specimen tubes that he didn’t particularly want to see.

“Just like this, if that’s what you need, remember?” Genesis whispered softly as he stepped close and embraced Sephiroth much as he had on Angeal’s couch. He knew Hojo was glaring at them with his mouth twisted into a judgemental sneer, but Hojo’s judgement be damned. 

Sephiroth made no effort to resist, knowing full well that Hojo was never anywhere near as gentle as Angeal. He ignored the scientist’s snort of derision and let himself be held, as weak as it made him feel to require it. The rubber tourniquet bit into his arm, and alcohol burned his sensitive nose. The incessant electronic beeps on the monitor were getting closer together, echoing in his ears as well as his chest. He hated it, both his body’s maladaptive response and having it displayed so obviously.

Genesis’s arm tightened around him just before Sephiroth felt the needle pierce his antecubital, digging around for a vein and triggering the predictable wave of dizziness. He inhaled deeply the unique scent of spiced leather and waited for it all to pass. A thought occurred to him— it was entirely possible nausea could set in and could result in a mess of Genesis’s favorite red jacket, that he could embarrass himself even more thoroughly than he already had. He considered pulling away to prevent such a scenario, but the world was spinning too fast and getting dimmer with each vial that clicked against the tray. One of the filled tubes rolled and came to rest against his outstretched forearm. It felt warm to the touch, which made his stomach turn, because that was _his_ warmth that had been pulled outside of _his_ body. His thoughts of disgust were interrupted by a quiet, silky voice, though it sounded garbled, as if he were underwater.

“It’s okay, Seph. You can lean against me. I’ve got you,” Genesis whispered into strands of silver. He could feel Sephiroth’s body grow heavier against him, his form growing more limp as more and more blood was taken. The monitor played out the response in real-time, an initial spike in heart rate followed by long pauses between beeps. He tuned out Hojo’s whiny voice muttering something about a “fascinating vagal response,” focusing instead on supporting his friend’s weight. It seemed odd to see Sephiroth in this light, so undeniably human, with fears and weaknesses like any other. Angeal had been right. He was just as fragile as either one of them, but simply conditioned to hide it better.

It took a few moments for the spell to pass, even after the needle had been withdrawn and a bit of gauze held against his skin, and Sephiroth found he was in no apparent hurry to pull away from the man who kept him upright. He was still unaccustomed to leaning on somebody else, and while he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, he was discovering that it wasn’t entirely unpleasant either. At the very least, it offered him a contrasting set of sensations that he could focus on to distract him from Hojo’s ministrations. At most… better not to think about it. Instead, as the world righted itself, Sephiroth thought about slowly maneuvering himself back to a confidently independent position, trying to recover whatever dignity he could.

“If you’re done coddling him,” the professor chastised, “I need to physically examine him.”

Genesis pursed his lips and bit his tongue to prevent a sharp reply from slipping past his teeth. He looked at Sephiroth, who was starting to regain some of the color he’d lost, and waited until he received a nod before reluctantly stepping away.

Sephiroth was surprised that he missed Genesis’s warm presence as soon as the man pulled away from him. Maybe that, too, was some sort of side effect of the sedative along with the heavy limbs and the flash of warmth he’d experienced while changing. It made him question whether or not accepting the dose had been an appropriate course of action, but he couldn’t undo what had already been done.

He was unable to suppress the shudder that ran through him as Hojo pushed his hair back to direct an otoscope into each of his ears in turn. It wasn’t the type of shudder he occasionally fought to hide during hand-to-hand practice with Genesis and Angeal, the type that paired with a pleasant tingle in his chest and _elsewhere_. No, this shudder was one of revulsion at having such a sensitive place touched by somebody so vile. He was grateful when the instrument was removed, even its brief use giving him phantom feelings of mako flooding his ear canals during submersion sessions in the tanks.

He was _not_ grateful for the bright light Hojo shone directly into his eyes. It seared his retinas, instigating a headache that threatened to pierce through his very skull. Sephiroth squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, another instinctual reaction that he couldn’t prevent.

“I _expect_ your cooperation, Sephiroth,” warned Hojo, reaching out and grabbing his pointed chin to pull his face back toward the light. “Especially after all the stunts you’ve pulled. Now, open your eyes and behave.”

Genesis snapped. “He’s enhanced! His vision is so sensitive he can see in almost complete darkness, and you think he’s not going to react to the light of the godsbedamned _sun_ being shone directly into his eyes?!”

Hojo frowned at the redhead. “And probably all the more sensitive because he’s withdrawing from mako. But whose fault would that be now, hmm?” He let the question hang in the air like the threat it was and gripped Sephiroth’s jaw firmly.

Sephiroth steeled himself and opened his eyes against the blinding whiteness. He would accept the pain as penance for his indiscretions because Hojo had a point. It was his own fault he was in this situation, and he’d somehow gotten Genesis roped in as well. The least he could do was cooperate to get them out of this hellhole as quickly as possible.

“Remains the only subject to have developed pupillary abnormalities,” Hojo rambled under his breath, apparently speaking to himself as he often did. “Open,” he commanded, releasing his grip on Sephiroth’s jaw.

Sephiroth had no sooner opened his mouth than a tongue depressor was shoved inside, and he gagged loudly against the offending object, unprepared for the assault on his reflexes. After a harsh tsk from the professor, however, he tried again, this time focusing on the stale wooden flavor pressing against his taste buds and the increasingly annoying electronic blip behind him in order to prevent a repeat occurrence. He breathed deeply and reminded himself to be the master of his own body as he’d been taught since childhood.

Genesis wasn’t certain why he was so bothered by it all, given that he’d been subjected to much the same treatment in the past. Maybe it was because he felt more powerless now than he ever had when he’d been the subject of Hojo’s (or Hollander’s, for that matter) attention. There just wasn’t anything he could _do_ aside from watch and be present. So that’s what he did. That and try to refrain from making the waspish comments he wanted to make. He noticed many things while he watched. He noticed the way Sephiroth’s fingers dug into the edge of the table harder the longer he was examined. He noticed Sephiroth’s silence, even when Hojo was being an unnecessary prick. He also noticed that Sephiroth had impressive control over his own gag reflex when not taken by surprise, but he deliberately averted his eyes before he noticed that particular fact _too_ closely.

With the tongue blade finally removed, Sephiroth swallowed hard, trying to rid his mouth of the unpleasant taste, which was remarkably similar to the supplemental protein he’d supposedly been prescribed. Cold, bony fingers felt behind his ears, traced under his jawline, down the length of his neck, and out along his collarbones. They felt like insects crawling over his skin, exploring the lines of his body in search of a weakness they could exploit. This was the touch he had developed an aversion to, but for so long, he had extrapolated it to all touch. Genesis and Angeal had deconditioned him somewhat, first with the occasional handshake, then a warm clap of a hand to a shoulder, and finally to the very rare and brief hug. Angeal had explained there was a difference between being touched by somebody you trusted and being touched by somebody you didn’t, and Genesis had insisted on proving it. They’d been right, and he’d grown to not only tolerate, but appreciate those gestures. Being touched by this man, however, would always make his skin crawl.

When Hojo seemed satisfied that there were no lymph nodes out of place, he positioned himself behind Sephiroth’s back, which Sephiroth always disliked. The reason was simple. One should never turn one’s back on an enemy, and the scientist certainly wasn’t a friend. He turned his head to try to keep the man in his peripheral vision and caught sight of Genesis instead. His friend was clearly on high-alert, seeming to watch Hojo’s every move, but his pink lips curled into a smirk when he met Sephiroth’s gaze. Sephiroth felt his own lips twitch in response and ceased his attempts to track the professor, instead returning his eyes to the door, which he so desperately wanted to walk through. It was comforting to know that somebody was quite literally watching his back.

The thin fabric of his gown was pulled open, and cool air tickled Sephiroth’s skin. Spindly fingers then brushed his long hair aside, so they could trace either side of his spine and press firmly along the edges of his scapula. He flinched when Hojo pushed over an unexpectedly tender spot close to his right shoulder blade, but otherwise accepted the touch with no obvious outward complaint. The sound of one of Hojo’s dreaded noises of interest at the unintended movement was concerning, but thankfully, the creep did little more than make a verbal note of the painful area and continue on.

Hazy thoughts flitted through Sephiroth’s mind while Hojo placed the chilly bell of a stethoscope against his back and directed him to take deep breaths. Would there be scans today? CT scans, MRIs? He hoped not; that would delay his departure. Were his mako levels stable enough that he could receive a simple infusion, or would he be subjected to the tanks this time? If he were in the tanks, would Genesis still stay? Did he want him to stay? Would Genesis judge him unfavorably if he saw him in such a weak and vulnerable state? And why did that seem to matter? And why did he let Angeal give him something that muddled his thinking this way?

“Seph.” Genesis’s soft voice broke through the mental fog Sephiroth had been losing himself in. “You okay?”

Dark eyelashes fluttered a few times as Sephiroth blinked back to awareness. He nodded, flustered by the knowledge that he’d been so transparent, given he typically draped himself in a cloak of impassivity. A few more deep breaths and then Hojo was listening to his heart. Ironic, Sephiroth thought, considering he could hear its steady rhythm beating in his ears as well as beeping behind him on the infernal monitoring equipment.

“Lie back,” Hojo instructed, pocketing the stethoscope and guiding his prized specimen against the table.

It was never comfortable to be supine in the labs, far too vulnerable. It was a position of submission in combat, a position of weakness. Still, Sephiroth, who never submitted in combat, cooperated quietly, the only sound he made being the crinkling of the paper beneath him as he shifted his body. He tried to relax as best he could, not wanting to incur Hojo’s ire by tensing as the professor pressed deeply against his abdomen, palpating his organs.

Genesis sensed it, saw it, heard it. He sensed the unease, twisting through the room like a living creature. He saw it, in the split-second of hesitation before Sephiroth lay back and in the lines that formed on his forehead. The electronic noise, of course, was unmistakable, so obvious that it felt like cheating to use it as a marker. He understood, even if Sephiroth never explained. The feeling of helplessness, the distaste over being placed on unequal footing. He took a few halting steps forward, unsure of what exactly to do as he approached. Reach out and grab his friend’s hand? Pat his shoulder? Stand equally as awkwardly just...closer?

It was at precisely that moment Hojo pulled Sephiroth’s gown up without any respect for the man’s modesty, as specimens were not afforded such luxury. Genesis halted, his gaze flicking rapidly from where the gown _had_ been, to his friend’s reddening face, to the floor. If he hadn’t known what to do with himself before, he certainly had no clue now.

Surprised, Sephiroth inhaled sharply as he was placed fully on display. His hands balled into fists, and he reminded himself that it would at least be brief. Desperate for something to focus on, he looked to his right, but Hojo, who he never wanted to look at longer than necessary, was standing there. At his left was Genesis, who had briefly made eye contact. For some reason, that made Sephiroth’s face feel uncomfortably hot, so he chose to stare determinedly at the ceiling instead. Then his emerald eyes grew wide.

Hojo was _touching_ him, and that was new. Sure, the scientist had always given him a cursory look over to track developmental progress, but had never put his clammy hands on intimate places. Until today. Today, he was touching and feeling and pressing and examining. Today, he was nudging Sephiroth’s thighs apart so that he could take each testicle in hand, rolling them between his fingers and making Sephiroth’s stomach turn. Today was new, and new was never good when it came to the labs.

Not even certain he believed in them, Sephiroth prayed fervently to the gods that it would be over soon. He wanted so badly to yank the gown back down and leave, but that would mean his mako withdrawal would progress. Worse, it would mean he was letting Genesis and Angeal down, and they’d done so much to get him here today. For that reason, more than anything, he concentrated on the white ceiling tiles and on his fingernails digging into his palms while he waited for Hojo to complete his unpleasantly thorough examination.

“Turn onto your left side,” the scientist directed, stepping away to access a drawer.

Hastily, Sephiroth covered himself, but he didn’t turn away. No part of him trusted Hojo enough to turn his back on somebody so unscrupulous, especially not knowing what the scientist was up to. The last time he’d lain on his side in such a manner, Hojo had stuck a needle in his spine to collect a fluid sample, and it wasn’t something he wanted to have repeated.

Meanwhile, an understanding was dawning on Genesis, something that neither he nor Angeal had anticipated. If Sephiroth had been avoiding the labs for almost two years, then this was the first time he had been subjected to Hojo since becoming an adult. That explained the white knuckles, the elevated heart rate, and the reluctance during this part of the exam. Sephiroth was unfamiliar, had no idea that Shinra wanted to breed the original experiments in hopes of creating an entire race of elite SOLDIERs, and had never experienced this before. Of course, the mad scientist wouldn’t bother explaining any of it, leaving his obviously anxious specimen to stew in his own nerves. Genesis couldn’t stand seeing somebody he cared for being so distressed. In that instant, he decided to say fuck it to boundaries.

“Sephiroth, hey,” he smiled softly as he stepped closer. His chest knotted when he realized Sephiroth was having a hard time maintaining eye contact, the first instance of rote shyness he’d ever seen in his usually stoic comrade. “It’ll be okay. Just turn toward me, alright?”

Clinging to the redhead’s words like a lifeline, Sephiroth slowly rolled so that he was facing away from the professor, who was busy snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. He couldn’t bring himself to actually look at Genesis, afraid of seeing the pity that was sure to be written on those porcelain features, so he looked at the cabinets. Or he tried to, until Genesis drew close and filled his vision.

“Listen to me. I want you to bend your right knee,” Genesis instructed, placing his left hand against Sephiroth’s leg to pull it forward. “Good, just like that. And I want you to hold my hand.”

Sephiroth was cold and exposed, uneasy and embarrassed. His heart fluttered uncomfortably in his ribcage, and his chest was tightening so that it felt hard to breathe. When Genesis offered a hand, he took it without pause, and oddly… it helped. The skin was so blissfully warm, surprisingly soft despite years of sword wielding. Genesis kept rubbing a thumb across his knuckles in a rhythmic, quieting pattern. It was hypnotic in a bizarre way. He ducked his head, not wanting his face to reveal how strongly he was affected. Trying not to crinkle the paper too loudly, he shifted his hips as well in an effort to force any poorly timed physiologic reactions to remain as unobtrusive as possible.

“There you go, Seph. Relax a little bit,” Genesis soothed, never losing sight of Hojo, who was smearing clear gel onto an index finger. Why the fuck the cursed creep insisted on never warning anybody about anything was beyond Genesis, so the redhead took it upon himself to offer the warning. “Hojo’s going to touch you soon, Seph, but try to relax as best you can.”

Before he could ask exactly _how_ Hojo was going to touch him, he found out first-hand. The back of his gown was flipped open, and a gloved hand spread his cheeks, exposing the warmest parts of him to the cold air of the labs. Something wet and slimy was pressed against his clenched ring of muscle. He tried to roll back in protest, but his limbs were still heavy and Genesis’s grip was firm.

“No, sweetheart. That’s going to make it worse,” Genesis coaxed, his voice low and patient. “You can squeeze my hand if you need to, but try to breathe.”

Sephiroth barely had time to register the words before the finger that was pressed against him was pressing _into_ him, despite his body’s attempts to prevent it. He gritted his teeth and gripped Genesis’s arm tightly as he felt his insides being breached impatiently. His inner muscles gave way to the harsh probing, and he grunted in displeasure as Hojo seemed to twist and turn every which way within him, mapping out his inner walls like they held the secrets of the Cetra. 

“For fuck’s sake!” Genesis hissed across the table at the professor. “It would cost you _nothing_ to at least be _gentle!”_

An audible grunt of discomfort escaped Sephiroth’s lips as Hojo jabbed against some particularly intense place inside of him.

“It would cost me thoroughness, but you obviously wouldn’t understand that,” Hojo sneered.

Sephiroth tried to squirm and move away as the rough probing continued, seemingly concentrated all on the same epicenter of intensity that was simply too much. He was vaguely aware of Genesis’s voice telling him to breathe, of his hands gently rubbing at him while they held him, but it was hard to hear through the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. It wasn’t painful exactly, not physically, in the way an injury was painful. Instead it was violating, far more intimate and personal than anything he’d experienced before.

Hojo made a noise of disgust. “Any difficulties urinating?” he asked, prodding a few more times before finally withdrawing.

“No,” Sephiroth answered coldly, the first word he’d spoken since the exam had begun. He wasn’t sure where this line of questioning was going, but he didn’t like it.

“What about problems with ejaculation?” he asked, doffing his gloves and scribbling more notes into the chart.

Sephiroth turned a violent shade of crimson and tried to tuck his head into the table. “I… don’t think so.”

Genesis attempted to maintain a completely blank look on his face, but there was a distinct piece of mental imagery that he was suddenly finding a bit distracting. He loosened his grip on Sephiroth, but didn’t let go.

“Hmph,” Hojo huffed. “I had hoped to correct this issue with your treatments, but since you all decided to play your little games, it seems we’ve missed the window of opportunity.”

“What issue?” Sephiroth asked when he saw Genesis’s lips narrow into a thin line.

“Gast, the imbecile who started the mako enhancement regimen, seems to have broken the dosing up improperly. Because he selected fewer and higher doses rather than lower, more frequent doses, the body cannot absorb all the mako administered in one dose. It excretes the excess in urine, which makes the urine very caustic and causes scarring and resultant outflow abnormalities. An enlarged prostate has consistently resulted, but of course I must rule cancer and hyperplasia out as causes before I can make conclusions.”

It was more than Genesis had ever heard Hojo explain in his existence. Unfortunately, he had a fair idea about where this was going. “Which means _what_ for today?” Genesis asked coldly.

“That I’ll need to perform both a biopsy to rule out other causes and a dilation to break up the scar tissue.” When Sephiroth made to cover himself and get up, Hojo barked sharply, “Stay there, Sephiroth. You’ll need to be adequately cleaned before I can perform the biopsy.”

Confused by both the information given and the information lacking, Sephiroth turned his attention from Hojo, who was already rummaging through supply cabinets, to Genesis who was looking at him with sympathy in his cerulean eyes. Being told to remain in this position wasn’t a good sign, but he desperately needed to know what was happening.

“Gen, do you know what he means?” he whispered weakly, embarrassed to even be asking. This was by far the most defenseless he’d ever been rendered in front of his friend, and it made him feel like a burden.

Genesis released his hold on Sephiroth’s knee to run his fingers through strands of silver. “More or less,” he murmured, fighting the desire to brush a thumb over the younger man’s lips. Seeing him without the wall of ice he usually hid behind was undeniably moving. If only the timing hadn’t been so terrible. No wonder Angeal wasn’t sure he could handle accompanying him. The sound of the faucet behind him broke his trance.

“He’s going to administer… uh…” Genesis gestured vaguely, trying to think of a more delicate way to word things.

“Administer what, Gen?” Sephiroth practically pleaded.

Blunt it would be then. “An enema, Seph,” he sighed, and now _he_ was the one having a hard time making eye contact.

“Oh.” It was barely a whisper, an almost silent expression of shameful resignation. He’d heard the word, or seen it in a stolen textbook, maybe. The concept wasn’t foreign, though the experience would be. Sephiroth hadn’t let go of Genesis’s hand. He hoped he wouldn’t have to. It felt nice, calming, and made him feel less alone, even if he hated being seen this way. When he felt Hojo approach him again, he squeezed that hand harder for whatever comfort it offered.

Genesis’s free hand that had been stroking so peacefully through his hair went back to holding his knee forward, even though Sephiroth privately wished it would go on petting him until everything was over. Maybe even after. All too soon, a different hand was exposing him, and he was trying to breathe like Genesis had told him to. Fortunately, this wasn’t nearly as forceful as Hojo’s harsh prodding. It was still cold, slimy, and very unusual, but the slim nozzle slipped inside of him easily without triggering such a strong reflexive need to fight it.

There was a click, the sound of a clamp being undone, and coolness began pooling inside of him. He kept his breaths smooth and even, daring to study the planes of Genesis’s face as a distraction. Long eyelashes framed mako-bright blue eyes. High cheekbones, almost aristocratic in appearance, were covered in flawless, creamy skin. Pink lips curved upward, smiling at him with a touch of sadness. As far as distractions went, this was a good one, but as the fluid continued to flow into him, he couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably.

“Almost done, Seph,” Genesis assured him. “Just a little more.”

Maybe it was a little. Maybe it was a lot. It was definitely enough to make Sephiroth’s insides twist and gurgle in protest. He was grateful when Hojo finally pulled the device free, but he winced and grimaced in disgust as a single drop of fluid trickled over his skin.

“I’ll be back with the necessary equipment in fifteen minutes,” Hojo explained. “Let it set until I return.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind the professor, Genesis moved to shut the infernal monitor off with enough force he was surprised the screen didn’t crack. Then he rushed back to Sephioth’s side and let an invisible barrier between them drop.

“Sephiroth, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” He worried his fingers through Sephiroth’s hair again, scraping his nails gently against the younger man’s scalp.

Sephiroth nodded, caught a little off-guard by what Genesis had called him. He’d heard it the first time, but had been too preoccupied to process it. “Why is he doing this, Gen? What did he mean?”

The air rushed out of the redhead like water pouring from a freshly broken dam. “He wants to breed us, Sephiroth, to build an army even stronger than the one Shinra has. That’s why he’s so obsessed with our… reproductive capabilities,” he explained. “You were always underage before, so you’re not used to any of this, are you?”

“No. This is new,” Sephiroth replied. A lot of things were new today. The way Genesis was treating him. The way he was responding to it. The heat in his face, and the ticklish tightening in his chest. The things Hojo was doing. The idea of being bred, like chocobos.

A sharp cramp lanced through Sephiroth’s middle, and he shifted to try to find a more comfortable position. Fifteen minutes, as it turned out, would be a very long time. “I don’t think you signed up to stay for all of this, Genesis. You’re welcome to go, if you’d like.”

“Do you _want_ me to go? I’m only leaving if my presence is making you uncomfortable.” He locked eyes with the man on the table before him, daring him to lie.

“No,” Sephiroth admitted. Now that he had Genesis here with him, he couldn’t imagine being in the labs alone again. Still, that wasn’t the responsibility of his friends. He refused to put that on them. “But that doesn’t mean…”

“Then I’m staying right here with you,” Genesis smiled. He flicked a glance at Sephiroth’s forehead, but shook himself before he leaned in to place a chaste kiss there. Instead, he contented himself with reaching over to rub a slow pattern of circles into the man’s upper back, trying to drain away some of the tension in the knotted muscles.

Sephiroth bit off the quiet hum that had started to sneak through his lips. He wasn’t used to this sort of tenderness, but it did provide a nice counterbalance to the increasingly frequent sharp pains of urgency that were stabbing at him. He never thought he’d look forward to Hojo’s return, but he was starting to feel impatient. At least, his insides were.

“Just a few more minutes, Seph,” Genesis reminded him, noticing the way he was beginning to squirm. He risked moving the pattern a little lower on the man’s back, not enough to be overtly suggestive, but maybe enough to help alleviate some of the discomfort. Judging by the way Sephiroth relaxed into the motion, it worked.

Abruptly, Hojo burst back through the doorway, equipment in tow.

“Am I interrupting?” he sneered at the SOLDIERs who looked _very_ comfortable from his position in the doorway.

“Always,” Genesis retorted with a glower as he helped Sephiroth to a seated position. “Ready?” he asked, addressing his friend.

Once a fresh wave of urgency had passed, Sephiroth nodded and let Genesis lead the way to the restroom. Not because he needed a guide, but because he needed a lookout. Having Genesis see him this way was difficult enough. He _definitely_ didn’t want to risk running into another SOLDIER while he was in his most undignified state.

While Sephiroth was in the restroom, Genesis whipped out his PHS to see a message waiting for him from Angeal.

_A: How’s it going, Gen? Is he okay?_

_G: We didn’t take into account that it’s his first visit to the labs since he’s become an adult._

_A: Shit._

And that, in and of itself, was surprising, coming from Angeal.

_A: Do whatever you can to help him through it, Gen. I think Hojo’s scarred him enough._

_G: I think we need to finally sit down with him and discuss what you and I have talked about._

_A: About us? All of us? Are you sure you’re not just projecting your own emotions? What makes you think he’s ready to consider it?_

_G: Yes. I’ll explain later, but I think there’s more to the accidental “stabbings” during hand-to-hand practice than simple physiology. I think, in waiting, we’ve been doing him a disservice._

Genesis quickly pocketed the device when he heard the faucet running. There was so much more to say, so much he wished they’d talked to Sephiroth about sooner despite their concerns about boundaries and comfort levels. Instead, Sephiroth’s glacial walls were coming down in the fucking labs in front of fucking Hojo as a result of forced fucking vulnerability, and Genesis was afraid they’d lose everything before they’d even truly gained it. Yet, when silver hair and a green gown reappeared, Genesis quickly swallowed his rage and regret to offer a gentle smile of support.

Secretly, Sephiroth was surprised to see Genesis still waiting for him when he exited the washrooms. Not because he thought either of his friends were unreliable or untrustworthy, but because he didn’t understand why they would willingly put themselves in such an awkward position for his sake. More than surprised, though, he was grateful.

They made the short walk back to the exam room in relative silence. For a brief moment, their arms brushed against each other, and Sephiroth pulled away as if he’d received a static shock. He knew, now, that Genesis’s hand would feel warm and soft and soothing if he were to grab it, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t permitted at this juncture. That train of thought derailed when they reached the doorway to the exam room, and he froze.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Dubious consent continues

New equipment was present in the room, and while some of it looked harmless, some of it did not. A pair of wheeled stools had been added, one at each end of the table. There was a bulky machine to the side of the exam table, a screen with a few corded attachments of various shapes. The metal stand had been draped in blue, a sterile towel covering who knew what. The worst, however, was the reconfiguration of the exam table itself. It was shorter, like a portion of it had been folded or pulled away. In place of the missing section, there were matching apparatuses that he supposed would be called stirrups. Although he wasn’t sure that stirrups resembled large yellow boots or that they usually came equipped with straps clearly meant to hold one’s feet in place. It was obvious how he would be positioned, and he wanted no part of it.

“Waiting isn’t going to make it any better, Seph,” Genesis said. He put a hand to the small of the other man’s back, urging him gently across the threshold. “Look, he even put a seat up by your head for me, so I’ll help you through it.” He didn’t know if that’s what the stool was actually for, but that’s what it was going to be for now, Hojo’s intentions be damned.

Sephiroth didn’t understand how anybody could “help him through” whatever was about to happen, but Genesis had proven to be a calming presence thus far. Though, he was very concerned that he might yet _react_ to the redhead’s closeness, which would be unfortunately apparent in such a position. Which left one question: which was worse? Risking shame or being alone with Hojo? 

“Don’t waste my time,” Hojo warned. “Hips at the edge of the table. Feet in the fins.”

Pale skin turned paler, somehow, and Sephiroth sat on the end of the exam bed. At least he didn’t have to put the godsdamned finger clip back on. He’d be the only one that could hear his heart race. Well, he hoped, anyway, given that mako-heightened senses included enhanced hearing. With a slow exhale of resignation, he sank his torso back against the table and lifted his feet into the yellow boot-like structures.

Seconds later, Hojo was fastening straps across his ankles and shins, trapping him in this vulnerable position, his most intimate places on display in the harsh lighting. He noticed the restraints had patches of iridescent green— laced with processed binding materia to hold even SOLDIERs. Sephiroth knew his breathing was becoming shallow and uneven when the professor began to fasten another thick strap over his chest, but he couldn’t help it. This was all too much. He couldn’t _do_ this.

“Wait. Wait, don’t.” Genesis held a hand up, forcing Hojo to pause. “You don’t have to strap his body down.”

“He barely held still enough for a simple rectal exam, and you think he’ll hold still for this?” Hojo spat, clearly angered by Genesis’s intervention.

_Perhaps if you hadn’t been so fucking aggressive_ , Genesis bit back the retort. Rather, he limited himself to, “I’ll… I’ll hold him still if I have to. Just don’t strap him down like that.”

It sounded so strange to Sephiroth’s ears. He belonged to Shinra and its science department. He didn’t have a say in what happened to him. That’s why he was here today. He’d tried to fight it, but the consequences had caught up to him. Why was somebody advocating for him? It didn’t make sense.

“And what makes you think the likes of you can hold the strongest SOLDIER alive?” the scientist sneered.

“He’s _withdrawing_ ,” Genesis pointed out. Not to mention still under the effects of a mild sedative, but that didn’t need to be shared. “His strength has been declining for weeks, or he wouldn’t be here.”

It wasn’t untrue, but hearing it aloud still rankled. Sephiroth decided not to argue, however, when Hojo gave in to the argument. If it meant his arms and chest wouldn’t be restrained against the table, then he would accept the insult to his strength. Having his feet fixed into the awful “fins” was terrifying enough.

“Fine, but if he moves too much, I’m strapping him down. And if you stand in my way, I’ll have you removed,” Hojo threatened before stepping away and fiddling with the bulky machine he’d brought to the room.

Settling himself onto the stool by Sephiroth’s head, Genesis rolled as close to the exam table as he could. It brought his chest extremely close to the beautiful mane of silver, and he briefly wondered if it would be too close for comfort. Then he reminded himself that part of the mess they’d gotten themselves into was due to he and Angeal always worrying about crossing an invisible boundary that Sephiroth had never actually set. 

“Would you like my hand again?” he asked, crossing a forearm over Sephiroth’s chest and offering his palm. It was bold, but the time for tiptoeing was over as far as Genesis was concerned.

Like a drowning man to a life raft, Sephiroth grabbed onto the proffered hand, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He was clinging like a child to somebody by whom he desperately wanted to be seen and respected as an adult. He was naked, feet up and legs spread wide in front of both a sadistic scientist and a man he’d been avoiding in the showers. To top it off, he was at Hojo’s mercy, knowing full well that the professor had none to offer when it came to getting the scientific answers he wanted. As much as Sephiroth wanted to close his eyes and dissociate, he was too afraid to give up his last defense - his awareness.

He chanced a look past his thighs, which he immediately regretted. The sight of Hojo coating a corded wand in gel was more than enough to make his stomach turn and his muscles knot. He dropped his head back to the table, turning his face into Genesis’s soft leather sleeve.

“It’s just an ultrasound probe, sweetheart,” Genesis explained softly, not that a description would make the device any less intimidating. It wasn’t particularly large… for somebody that was familiar with that sort of thing, anyway, which Sephiroth clearly was not. “Try to breathe with me and relax, alright? You’re going to be okay.”

Sephiroth could feel Genesis’s chest expanding behind him, the air puffing over him in a slow and steady rhythm. He tried to match the pattern, but it was so hard to focus on anything aside from the image that was burned into his mind and the expectation of what was to come next. “Relax” may as well have been a word from a lost language, completely incomprehensible to a stricken mind.

The arm across his chest tightened, pinning him to the table and warning him of impending discomfort. Seconds later, cold lubricant was being smeared over his most private opening, and he tried ineffectively to shift his hips away from the unpleasant sensation. And then it was there, that _thing_ Hojo had been holding. Blunt and hard and pushing relentlessly against him. Instinct and reflex told him to fight, to try and escape from the increasing pressure that was stretching him, was forcing him open. But there was nowhere to go.

“Don’t hold your breath, Seph. Seph. Sephiroth! Look at me.”

The voice was coming to him from a distance, a melody of calm that was so far removed from the jarring discomfort being forced upon him, forced into him. Worst was when the widest point seemed to be past and his body began to pull the object in rather than try to push it out, a betrayal of the self. He tried to tense, to close himself. It was impossible. More voice. More words. A hand was pulling on his chin, bringing his focus upward to a worried face that hovered over him. Genesis.

“There you are,” Genesis breathed, relieved. Never had he imagined he’d be pulling the ever-stoic Sephiroth away from the brink of a panic attack. “Sephiroth, stay focused on me. I know it’s a lot. I know it’s uncomfortable. But are you _in pain_?”

Wasn’t that an odd question? Something foreign was inside of him, and that should cause pain. He could feel rings of muscle being held open by an object, but if he thought about it, the answer to Genesis’s question wasn’t exactly yes. It wasn’t jabbing or twisting or prodding, like Hojo had been. It was just… present. Not particularly pleasant, but not painful either. Most importantly, it _wasn’t Hojo_ _himself_ , and that made it somehow easier to tolerate. He shook his head, slowly, still a little unsure.

“Okay, better,” Genesis encouraged, stroking a thumb along Sephiroth’s jaw. It was too close to what he wanted to do. He shouldn’t be stroking Sephiroth’s jaw, not before they all sat down and had a long-overdue conversation. Yet it seemed to quiet the distress, and that was all that mattered. Now it was just a matter of keeping him focused enough to breathe. He looked up briefly to see Hojo fitting a needle into the guide and quickly counted the specimen jars on a tray.

“Are you still with me, Seph?”

Sephiroth nodded. The world was becoming clearer, the tunnel he’d been hurtling into widening. A soft hand was on his cheek. A pretty face was looking down at him. A comforting arm was steadying him. He wasn’t alone. He was… oddly safe amidst the chaos.

“Sephiroth, it’s going to pinch soon,” Genesis explained. He wasn’t sure if this would work, but he was damn sure going to try. “It’s not going to feel good when it happens, but I want you to count with me, Seph. Just like Angeal makes the new Thirds count reps with him when he’s training them. We’ll go to twelve.” 

He thought he saw a whisper of a smile flit over Sephiroth’s features at the mention of Angeal. Gods, how had they missed it for so long? Well. Maybe because they hadn’t seen him chemically altered before in such a way that he was expressive. Or maybe Sephiroth had missed it too, not knowing any better. That was going to change. They wouldn’t go back to ignoring _anybody’s_ feelings after this. He would make sure of it, though he was sure they would have to be gentle. 

Click.

It was quiet, maybe quiet enough that unenhanced ears wouldn’t hear it, but the physical sensation that came with it couldn’t be missed. Sephiroth inhaled sharply, pulling uselessly against the restraints that trapped his ankles. It was _sharp_. Not that he was unfamiliar with sharp. He’d been poked and cut before, but this was like being stabbed from the inside, something that couldn’t be dulled with the simple application of pressure.

“Stay with me, Seph. One,” Genesis reminded, squeezing Sephiroth’s hand tightly to bring his attention back.

Sephiroth could feel a subtle shifting within him and looked up to see Hojo staring at the screen of the ultrasound machine. It wasn’t as rough and impatient as the earlier treatment, but it still made him wince uncomfortably. There was a dull throb where the first sample had been taken, and he could only imagine how much worse it would feel as more samples were retrieved. More. Numbers. He was supposed to be counting. He grabbed on to Genesis both mentally and physically, readying himself for the next assault.

Click.

“Two,” Sephiroth grunted out as he flinched. 

“Two, good,” the redhead echoed, grateful that the tactic seemed to be effective in at least providing a focus.

Another shift, this one pressing firmly into that uncomfortably intense spot again. He inhaled deeply the scent of spicy leather, grounding himself to the aroma. How would he have tolerated this alone? It wouldn’t have mattered, he supposed. Hojo would have restrained him with metal and materia-enhanced leather, would have wounded him if that’s what was necessary to keep him from moving. But Hojo would never drug him, probably because it would have been too merciful, though of course he’d say it was because it would have “skewed the data.”

Click.

“Three.” This time his voice was a little steadier. A little less strangled.

The pain didn’t decrease in severity, quite the opposite, but at least it became predictable. Predictability allowed for preparation and processing, and that made it all more tolerable. That and the warm and comfortable hold he found himself wrapped in. He let himself settle into the rhythm of shift, click, flinch, count. Halfway through, he could feel himself getting tired, a combination of stress and whatever sedative still remained in his system. By ten, he felt exhausted, like his body was running out of fuel to make him flinch.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Genesis encouraged, seeing the slight tremor of stress fatigue in the man’s muscles. He pressed his free hand over Sephiroth’s heart, like somehow it would slow the frenzied beating. “You’re almost there. Last two.”

Sephiroth knew he was sweating, could feel strands of hair clinging to the dampness on his face. Two more shifts of the probe inside of him, the wand that he so desperately wanted _out_ of him. Two more clicks, each seeming to bite harder than the last, his tender walls sore from repeated piercing. Two more flinches that he wasn’t sure he had the energy for. He shuddered when he felt the ultrasound probe leave his body at last, the slightly larger tip of the wand stretching him one more time on its way out before finally letting his twitching muscles constrict completely.

“There you go, Seph. Just breathe for a bit.”

Eyes drifting shut and body going limp, Sephiroth took Genesis’s advice and simply caught his breath. It was all too much. Too much newness. Too much embarrassment. Too much violation and vulnerability. Too much Hojo. The only thing that seemed to _not_ be too much was the warm hold he found his torso trapped in. That hold was too little. Not enough. He wanted to curl into this hold, to escape into the embrace. To be safe and warm and accepted. But that would be weak, and he couldn’t afford to be weak.

Rather than let himself chase that weakness, he turned his attention toward the end of the table, where Hojo was twisting caps onto the specimen containers before stepping to the sink to scrub his hands. A sense of relief settled over Sephiroth, a surety that the procedure had concluded. A surety that evaporated when the scientist pulled a blue, sterile towel off of the tray stand to reveal a set of gleaming curved rods beneath.

“Gen?” He hadn’t meant to speak, hadn’t meant to murmur the question that wasn’t a question in a voice so meek it didn’t belong to him. It crept out without his permission, but almost everything had been done without his permission today. Unsurprising, then, that his body didn’t ask his mind permission to speak.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Genesis breathed against the younger man’s ear sympathetically while he tightened his grip over his chest. The response wasn’t an answer to the unspoken question, but it said more than enough.

_Know what?_ Sephiroth wanted to scream, but found he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs to manage it. He was too dumbstruck by the image of Hojo returning to the space between his legs, a fresh pair of sterile gloves on his hands, selecting one of the wicked-looking pieces of stainless steel. Why was he coating the rod in clear gel? Why was he grabbing the intimate organ that hung limply between Sephiroth’s legs? Why… 

“No, no, no… _Please_ , no…” Sephiroth found himself begging quietly. He tried to pull his feet out of the restraints, but the materia-infused bindings held him fast. Frantically, he tugged at Genesis’s hand. Somebody had to help him get _out of here!_

“I’m so sorry, Seph,” Genesis said softly, using both arms now to hold the distraught man tightly to the table. “You have to stay still so you don’t injure yourself. Just hold on to me. I’m going to be right here with you.” Like that would in any way make it less painful.

“Stop squirming,” Hojo snapped coldly as he positioned the instrument. “Your disobedience is what put you in this situation.”

Sephiroth barely swallowed a harsh cry as he watched frigid metal begin to slide into his body, impaling him far more intimately than any weapon he’d encountered. It filled him with dread and horror, but closing his eyes did nothing to prevent the cruel rod from sinking deeper, touching places he was sure were never meant to be touched. A part of him wanted to scream, but he could only draw short, shallow breaths, which were good for no more than a pathetic groan of discomfort. He tried to fight off the arms that held him but between the mako withdrawal and the lingering medication in his veins, he couldn’t quite gather the strength required.

A foreign cold, an unfamiliar stretch, a sensation completely bizarre spread through Sephiroth’s pelvis. There was no escape from it, just as there was no escape from Shinra. No escape from Hojo’s clutches. No escape from the humiliation of today. By the time the relentless steel finally halted its advancement, the silver-haired SOLDIER was dizzy with both panic and shame.

“Shhh,” Genesis hushed against his comrade’s ear, feeling like a pawn in Hojo’s sick game, forced to grapple somebody he cared about against their will. “You’ve got to settle down, Seph,” he coaxed. Maybe the sedative had been a bad idea. Maybe it hadn’t sedated him at all, only sedated his inhibitions. Or maybe this level of panic was why he’d stopped coming to the labs in the first place, a phobic association ingrained by years of torture.

Whispered words came to Sephiroth through the pounding of blood in his ears, providing a small comfort amidst the chaotic assault on his nerves. He turned his face toward the sound, nuzzling pitiably into silky strands of red as though it would provide him even a scrap of shelter against this storm. After a few tormenting minutes, or was it seconds? Time was immeasurable anymore. After a few uncounted moments passed, the wicked object was removed without fuss or fanfare, leaving him weak and trembling.

Mercy. Dignity. They were all he wanted, and they were too much to ask for. Hojo hadn’t released his grip yet. No, instead, the professor was nudging another sound against his slit, and Sephiroth broke.

“Gen, _please,_ ” he pleaded, digging his fingertips into Genesis’s coat. “ _Please_ make him stop. I can’t do this anymore!” His breath caught in his throat, the last syllables barely even a whisper.

Then his words were lost as he was violated once again in a way that he hadn’t even known a man _could_ be violated. This time it was worse. It _burned_ , his most delicate tissues being forced to accommodate something they weren’t ready for. There was a horrible pressure inside of him, his body revolting against the intrusion, but the metal was pressed inexorably deeper until he was sure it would be lost somewhere within. He made noises, but couldn’t tell if they were loud or soft. Animal or human. Roars of rage or whimpers of despair. 

“That’s _enough_ ,” Genesis growled, glaring at Hojo, who was rotating and adjusting the second sound deep inside Sephiroth while the young man writhed and sobbed tearlessly. 

“Yes, it is,” the greasy-haired sadist agreed nonchalantly, finally pulling the wicked free. 

The easy compliance made Genesis pause, for Hojo never stopped just because somebody told him to. The man could do whatever he wanted as long as he kept providing Shinra with a perfect army.

“The last thing I need is a semen sample for testing purposes, and since you and he are clearly so close, I thought it would be best if you managed the extraction,” Hojo leered, removing his gloves and pointing to a final specimen container on the tray stand.

_“What?”_ Genesis snapped. An icy shock struck through his spine.

“Yes,” Hojo confirmed, face twisted into a sneering smirk. “And _do_ be sure to milk him properly. If the sample size is insufficient, I’ll have to repeat the process tomorrow when he comes in for his mako treatment. I presume you’re familiar with the technique?”

“Tomorrow?” Sephiroth, slowly coming back from the edge of panicked insanity now that Hojo was edging toward the door, had apparently missed most of the conversation and fixated on the idea of a return visit.

Genesis, however, was seething, fixated on something totally different. He should have known that there was a reason nobody had fought his presence today. “So you expect _me_ to just magically get him off when he’s stressed and sore after _you’ve_ just tortured him? What kind of sick joke is this, Hojo?”

“Yes, Sephiroth, tomorrow,” Hojo said, turning the door handle. “Your levels have been mismanaged by your own doing for too long. I’ll have to wait until your results are in to titrate your dosing properly. As for _you_ ,” he threatened as he pointed at Genesis. “It’s not a joke, but a mercy. If you’re unable to accomplish the task, electroejaculation has proven to be an effective method of achieving the necessary results.”

“ _Fuck,”_ Genesis swore harshly under his breath as the door clicked shut behind the professor. 

This wasn’t a mercy. Nor was it a joke. It was a punishment, and a cruel one at that. He and Angeal were about to lose everything they’d built with Sephiroth, everything they’d been so close to having, before they’d ever truly had it. Never before had he felt so completely and totally defeated.

“Genesis…” Sephiroth started, hesitantly. He tried to pull his gown over himself, to give himself a little modesty, which was a challenge considering his legs were still spread apart, his ankles strapped into the booted stirrups. Confused, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say, what to expect. His brain was slowly processing the words Hojo had spoken, and the conclusions he was coming to made his stomach flutter uncomfortably.

Genesis steeled himself, tried to dissociate from the situation at hand. Being complicit in the professor’s disgusting plans made him feel filthy in a way that no amount of soap and water could ever scour away. But allowing Sephiroth to be put through more pain and torture and panic would make him feel even worse. Resolved, he nodded silently, saying goodbye to any hope of ever building the relationship that he and Angeal wanted to build with the young SOLDIER.

“It’s okay, Sephiroth,” he murmured, not quite ready to make eye contact. Nothing was okay. This was a betrayal of the deepest sort that he’d be committing. A deliberate shattering of a fragile trust he would never be able to earn again. “I’ll make sure you don’t have to go through that.”

Sephiroth didn’t know exactly what _that_ was, but he made some assumptions based on the terms the professor had used, none of which sounded remotely pleasant. But if _that_ was what he thought it was, then how would Genesis be making sure… 

“Genesis, what does he want you to do?” he implored, convinced that his mind was deducing incorrectly.

With a sigh, the redhead drew away, releasing his hold on Sephiroth and stepping toward the sink. How much did Sephiroth understand? What did he know about anything sexual? Based on some earlier responses, he thought that _maybe_ the man had touched himself, but he couldn’t even be sure of that. What if this forever ruined the way he viewed pleasure? 

Genesis turned the water on to let it warm and remained facing away when he answered, voice cold and numb. “He wants me to collect a sample of your semen, Seph.” He felt his face heat at the admission, one of several reasons why he kept his eyes on the hot water that trickled over his hands and down the drain. “And he wants me to massage your prostate while I do it.”

“O-oh,” was the only audible reply.

Shocked, Sephiroth turned a shade of scarlet that he hadn’t realized he could turn. The fluttering in his stomach reached new levels of intensity, and he could feel blood pooling in places he really didn’t want it to pool. The problem wasn’t that he felt threatened by the idea. No, it was so much worse. The problem was that similar thoughts, sometimes about Genesis or Angeal or both, had crossed his mind before and _affected_ him in a certain, rather personal and embarrassing, way. He never _intended_ to think such things. The images simply popped into his mind in daydreams and night dreams alike, when he wasn’t paying enough attention to force them away. And judging by Genesis’s tone and body language, the man would be disgusted if he knew.

So he stared at the ceiling, feeling an aching in his chest overlay the fluttering in his stomach. He’d only ever called two people in this world friends. When today was over, he’d be lucky if he still had a single one. It was painful. It hurt worse than the biopsies, worse than the dilation even. A deep and throbbing pain that refused to be dulled.

When Genesis finally turned from the sink to make his way to the foot of the bed, Sephiroth grasped for the right words. “Gen, you don’t have to do this. It’s…”

“No,” the auburn-haired commander cut him off. “I won’t allow him to torture you that way. It’s inhumane.” Granted, a _lot_ of what Hojo did was inhumane, but everybody knew he was too well-protected by Shinra to be able to stop it. Still, Genesis would do anything he could to shield Sephiroth or Angeal from the man’s ruthlessness.

“Now, do you want me to see if I can find a blanket or a sheet or something to drape over your knees?” Genesis asked as he unstrapped Sephiroth’s ankles to at least give him the illusion of freedom.

“Why?” Sephiroth wrinkled his brow, not understanding the purpose. 

“So you don’t have to see me,” Genesis explained, a sad smile on his face.

The sight of auburn hair and delicate features between his legs wasn’t exactly something Sephiroth wanted hidden from his view, but admitting it was a different story. After all, perhaps _Genesis_ didn’t want to see _him._

“Only if you want it,” he replied, feeling it was only fair to make the same offer in return.

Genesis shook his head. A visual barrier didn’t make any of this less real. It created a façade of privacy, nothing more. Mentally centering himself, he took a deep breath, slicked a finger liberally, and let the cool jelly warm against his skin. He couldn’t think about how long he’d wanted to touch him like this. He couldn’t think about how he wanted to kiss him first, to invite him to a mutual exploration of one another’s mouths. He could only think about how to leave as few scars as possible on his friend’s soul.

“Seph, is it okay for me to touch you?” 

It seemed an odd question. Wasn’t that the point? Under different circumstances, he would have said yes. Would maybe have asked for it if he had any inkling that his body’s desires were requited and if he hadn’t been traumatized by Hojo. Instead, Sephiroth merely nodded, bracing himself for more discomfort and pain.

Cautiously, the redhead touched the pad of his finger to his friend’s entrance. The muscles were clenched, tension obvious throughout the man’s entire body. No wonder he’d been so distressed when he’d been penetrated for the rectal exam and the biopsies. Sephiroth probably had no idea that it wasn’t supposed to be like that, rough and uncaring.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re so tight…” he murmured so quietly it could have been directed at himself. “Seph, try to relax and let your legs fall to the sides,” he coaxed, resting his clean hand against a smooth inner thigh and nudging it gently outward. 

While he waited for Sephiroth to relax, Genesis circled slowly, spreading the warm gel over his comrade’s opening and barely dipping a fingertip within. He wished they weren’t in this godsforsaken place. Wished they were somewhere cozy, where Sephiroth could feel safe and comfortable. Maybe even with Angeal, who could distract and soothe and make it all easier. But wishes were for stars, not for SOLDIERs.

It became clear that little progress was being made. Even though he’d followed instructions and stopped trying to bring his knees together, the young man’s hands were still balled into fists. The lines of his muscles were still taut, an occasional tremor of stress-exhaustion rippling through them. It made Genesis ill to be doing this, knowing the negative effect he was having, but he reminded himself that the alternative would be so much worse.

“Sephiroth, I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured quietly. “Let’s try something different. I want you to bear down against me.”

Sephiroth lifted his head to give Genesis a wary and slightly confused expression.

“Don’t get me that doubtful look,” Genesis teased, trying anything to lighten the awful atmosphere in the room. “Trust me, sweetheart. It’ll make things easier.”

Continuing to apply light pressure, Genesis patiently waited, refusing to be forceful in the least. It took a short while for Sephiroth to comply, and the redhead exhaled a soft sigh of relief when he finally felt the tight ring become pliant. Smoothly, he slipped his finger within, being quick so as to minimize any opportunities to fight against him.

“There you go; that’s it,” he encouraged when he heard Sephiroth’s breath hitch and felt him tighten again. “I’ll let you adjust. Not painful though, is it? Just a bit strange?”

“Just… yes, odd,” Sephiroth admitted slowly, surprised at how different it was from Hojo’s earlier ministrations.

He found it difficult to hold entirely still, shifting restlessly and trying to override his body’s reflexive need to expel the foreign presence. A warm hand settled on his hip, a thumb rubbing small, soothing swipes over his bony crest. An urge to touch that hand came over him, a desire to twine fingers with it, like he’d been invited to do for comfort before. Unsure if that was welcome, however, he kept his arms flat against the table, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Good, Seph,” Genesis crooned as his comrade’s wriggling finally ceased. “I’m going to move a little, but I need you to tell me if you’re too sore, alright?”

Nodding, Sephiroth held his breath, waiting for an assault that never came. Instead, there was only a gentle, probing pressure followed by a brief, warm tingle that spread up the base of his spine and through his groin. Vaguely, he was aware that it was the same spot Hojo had focused on so aggressively, but it evoked entirely new sensations now. The warmth crept into his chest, bringing with it the faintest tinge of pink.

“Too much?” Genesis asked, barely grazing over the patch of firmness once more.

“N-no, it’s okay,” Sephiroth breathed as he shuddered against another trickle of sensation.

Smiling warmly, Genesis nodded while he continued to carefully trace the spot within. He tried dragging the pad of his finger over it while gradually withdrawing, but even that small in and out motion resulted in clenched muscle and displays of discomfort. Wanting to cause Sephiroth as little distress as possible, he changed tactic and chose a very slow rhythm in which he alternated between applying the barest hint of pressure to the sensitive nerve bundle and then releasing.

Subtle flickers of warmth that spread underneath Sephiroth’s skin seemed to gather blood from his extremities and pull it all toward his more intimate places. He could feel himself swelling little by little, as though each press of Genesis’s finger was bringing him closer to a hardness that he wished he could hide. Unfortunately, the stiffer he got, the better the pressure was beginning to feel, which only perpetuated the problem. Although, logically, he supposed that the “problem” was rather the point of the whole situation.

The gentle pace that Genesis had set, which had seemed just shy of too much at the start, started to feel teasingly slow as time went on, and while he trusted the older man’s judgement in the matter, he couldn’t keep his hips, seemingly of their own volition, from suddenly rocking into the sensation. A soft noise crept past his palate with the motion, and he snatched a hand to his mouth, embarrassed and ashamed of his own reaction. He bit down hard into the soft flesh of his lip, tasting blood and regret.

“Seph,” Genesis paused, waiting until green eyes guiltily met his own. “It’s supposed to feel good, sweetheart. You don’t have to hold back.” _Not with me_ , he wanted to say, but was too afraid of driving an even larger wedge between them. Like the damage wasn’t already being done.

Cautiously, Genesis tried withdrawing and advancing once again, this time with much better results. He was pleased to notice a lack of resistance, to see Sephiroth’s head drop back against the exam table, lips parted, his spine arching ever so slightly. More pleasing yet was the quiet gasp that sounded quite the opposite of pained. Genesis gave a few more slow and gentle thrusts of his digit, dragging a little more forcefully over that spot, and before long, he could see a clear drop of moisture beading at the end of Sephiroth’s turgid cock, threatening to drip onto his hairless skin.

He wanted to use his other hand to trace the planes of Sephiroth’s abdomen, to tease the hardened nipples, to tug on long, silvery hair. But this wasn’t a shared moment of lust and affection. This was a task, doled out to him by Hojo as punishment, one in which Sephiroth’s participation wasn’t voluntary. Instead, he reached for the plastic specimen cup on the tray table and held it out toward his friend, who he wasn’t sure would call him a friend after all this.

“Sephiroth,” Genesis interrupted, worried that he would completely dash the man’s arousal but seeing no other option. “You need to hold this. When you get close, you need to… well, to finish into it, okay?”

“Mmm?” Sephiroth responded, eyes slightly hazy with what could only be pleasure.

“I don’t have a third hand, Seph,” he smiled, pressing the container into Sephiroth’s palm. “You’ll need to actually catch…”

“Right, of course,” the silver-haired SOLDIER mumbled as he grabbed the item, and looked quickly away, obviously uncomfortable.

Genesis let him retreat into his shell while continuing the same languid but insistent ministrations that had drawn those beautiful quiet sounds from the silence. Fortunately, it seemed to bring Sephiroth back under Genesis’s spell for the man began tossing his head restlessly, as though he needed to move _something_ but was afraid to relinquish control.

Gripping the container in one hand and the edge of the table with the other, Sephiroth fought the urge to touch his own still-tender arousal. Each gentle thrust of the redhead’s digit was nudging him closer to a climax that hovered out of reach. He knew that it wouldn’t take long if he were only permitted friction, but it seemed that Genesis was knowledgeable enough in these matters to have deliberately withheld this necessity.

Trusting Genesis’s judgement, however, did not keep Sephiroth’s physical frustration from growing. He found himself rolling his hips against his comrade’s hand, searching for something that would send him over the edge. That was when he felt the only contact he had pull back, almost leave him entirely, as though punishing him for pursuing his wants. A punishment he well deserved, he supposed.

“ _Ah! Gen!”_ he gasped out, feeling not just one finger push back into him, but two. It didn’t register as painful. Nor even strange anymore. It only registered as more, and more was what he needed.

Thankfully, more is what Genesis gave him. More pressure. More stimulation. More electricity shooting up his spine. And finally, when his back was arching and his vision flecked with white, he was granted the stimulation his body craved. A soft hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke him, firmly and skillfully. He hated that he loved it, despised himself for moaning with the pleasure of it, loathed to admit that this was a deeply hidden dream twisted into a terrible nightmare.

It was a small miracle that Sephiroth scraped together enough sanity to remember he couldn’t be completely helpless in his ecstasy, as pleasure was not the goal of this experience. He barely brought the container up in time to catch the first hot spurts of his release in its confines, his limbs shaking with the intensity of the bliss that coursed through him. Each spasm of his body brought more of his essence forth, leaving him a little emptier, a little more drained.

Genesis milked him until he was dry, careful to draw out every last drop to ensure Hojo was mollified, to ensure Sephiroth wouldn’t be scarred even farther by the scientist’s torture. Only when Sepiroth had stopped contracting rhythmically around him did he carefully withdraw, wiping away the residual gel and taking the specimen cup from trembling fingers. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact when he stepped away to the sink where he ran his hands under scalding water and tried to force his own arousal to dissipate so that it wouldn’t be seen. Guilt, both for what he had done and for responding to it, at ate him like a parasite. How could he even admit to Angeal what had just happened?

Sephiroth, body weak from stress and climax, finally brought his feet out of the booted stirrups, sitting up and covering himself with the flimsy gown. It was the most alone he had felt all day, and alone was the last thing he wanted to be. Yet, he saw the way Genesis couldn’t look at him, was disgusted by him and the way he had acted. He would do anything to take it back, but time couldn’t be rewound.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not trusting himself to try to speak any louder.

Genesis whirled from his spot at the sink and came to stand before the forlorn silver-haired SOLDIER, the man who never showed anything but strength. He gripped the man’s biceps, sure he couldn’t have heard correctly.

“You... what?” he asked, shocked. “What on Gaia would you be sorry for?”

Bowing his chin, Sephiroth replied softly, voice catching in his throat. “You shouldn’t have come with me today. That shouldn’t have happened to you. I know… I know you didn’t want to do that.” His eyes burned with a hot mist, his vision uncomfortably blurry.

Lost for words, Genesis pulled Sephiroth against his chest, burying the head of silver beneath his chin. “I… not like _that_ , sweetheart, no” he mumbled, still too shocked to have a coherent response. “But that’s not your fault. We’re going to go back to Angeal’s after this, Seph, and the three of us are going to have a conversation that’s long overdue.”

He felt Sephiroth nod against him, and he held tightly, like he could somehow hug the misplaced culpability out of his slender body. “And Seph,” he assured, pulling the delicate chin up until their gazes were meeting, “I’m coming with you tomorrow for your treatment, and nobody can stop me. I’ll be here for you. Just like this, if that’s what you need.”

His heart could have shattered at the lost look in Sephiroth’s eyes, hopeless and forsaken, so rather than focus on it any longer, he just pulled the younger man back into a caring embrace, stroking his back until the tremors finally faded. Goddess willing, Angeal would help him to undo all the pain that had been caused here today.

**Author's Note:**

> The rough draft of the second chapter is done, just needs some fleshing out, editing, and polishing. My intention isn't to leave you hanging! Truth be told, the INTENTION was for it to be only one chapter, but 15K+ words seemed like way too much for one chapter.


End file.
